


Thrum

by utterlydespicable



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Guitar sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:26:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2009160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/utterlydespicable/pseuds/utterlydespicable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pickles finds talent very exciting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thrum

At first, when Pickles' small hands popped the button on his jeans, Skwisgaar's fingers halted.

"No... keep playin'." The redhead sounded distracted, even as his fingers wrapped around loosely, jerking him with short, staccato motions. Pickles had his head up on one elbow, not looking at him, still trying to look only half-interested in what he was doing.

"Gahddamn - you always git this stiff when yer playin'?" It hadn't taken any real effort to rouse the guitarist's interest - not that he'd expected it to.

"Ja, somestimes." Skwisgaar purred, but his fingers moved without disturbance. The only visible indication of the drummer's touch having had any effect at all was the way the Explorer was sliding down, almost imperceptibly.

Pickles' sideways glance picked up on it though, and he shifted slowly, until one of his knees hooked under the Swede's thigh. He tilted his head away nonchalantly but kept an eye on the blonde, lifting his leg a little. He felt Skwisgaar's muscles jump when the head of his dick bumped the body of his guitar - there was no playing that off. In fact, Pickles heard the tempo change, the quickening of dulled twanging from the unplugged instrument.

He kept his strokes brief and taut, agonizing, each one stopping just under the tip, squeezing the base on the downstroke every now and then. Skwisgaar's head was dropping forward in increments, his eyes slipping between his strumming hand and his dick.

The drummer's thumb swiped at a trail of eager pre-cum, and dragged it down the vein along the underside. The faintest hint of nail was enough to evoke a tiny gasp from the blonde, but his fingers moved ceaselessly against the strings even still. Pickles shifted a little more, pressing Skwisgaar's leg up just enough that the edge of his guitar brushed against the rim of his cockhead. It was too much paired with the dry jerkjob, he could feel the thrum of each note he hit reverberating down his shaft and directly into his core.

The redhead still wasn't looking at him, but Skwisgaar grabbed the hand, laving the man's slightly sweatly palm with long, unabashed licks. It was impossible not to pay heed to him then. The swede didn't care much for the games that Pickles seemed to need to play, unless they worked out in his favor - like this.

"Yous goings to does it, you shoulds dos it rights." He canted his hips, the guitar nestled against the base of his cock as he resumed. Skwisgaar was playing low, the deep vibrations rolling through him with a thrill he'd never experienced off the stage. The drummer looked dumbfounded for a moment, but his hand returned, hardly missing a beat. Both sets of eyes were fixated on the lewd sight of the guitarist's dick disappearing into Pickles' fist, the motion falling naturally in time with the muted music.

Skwisgaar dropped into setting the pace naturally, his lazy arpeggios amping up quickly into an intense, tightly coiled, furious cacophony that had his hips stuttering where he sat, the older man's jaw slightly slack as he let the swede fuck his fist. It wasn't long before he let out a succession of throaty moans, poorly suppressed, his few meager spurts landing on the guitar.

The playing slowed significantly, but did not stop, even as the blonde caught his breath. He only stopped to swipe through a glob of the semen that marred the Explorer's glossy black finish, rubbing it between two fingers momentarily before bringing it to his lips. Pickles watched, riveted by the curl of his tongue around slender fingers, provoking a demanding throb from below his belt.

"Ams you wantings somet'ing?" He cooed, condescendingly, his fingertips still brushing his lips coquettishly. "You only has to asks."

What followed was, simultaneously, some of the best and worst guitar playing of Skwisgaar Skwigelf's career.


End file.
